


The Whole Eight Yards

by EllieCarina



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hollywood AU, Los Angeles, Modern Era, Sharing a Bed, romcom, tropes galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCarina/pseuds/EllieCarina
Summary: Rey is in a pickle. Ben is an asshole. But he is also in a pickle. A chance encounter leads both of them to a mutually beneficial agreement. What could be easier than a fake relationship with someone that you loathe, after all? Among stars and starlets and below the glimmering lights of Hollywood, this up-and-coming actress and that asshole camera guy just might be the a romance like the movies.(aka all the tropes in one quick, breezy two-part read, you’re welcome!)





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, it's been AGES since I wrote for these two but I had this plot in the back of my head for literal years and so I really wanted this condensed version out in the universe...I hope you like it!
> 
> I am ever so glad for every comment and kudo, they make my world!! I'm hoping to get part two out by tomorrow or by the end of the week :)

**PART ONE**

 

The problem wasn’t that Ben Solo was terrible at his job, no, he was actually pretty good at it. The problem was that he was virtually described as a ‘unique individual’, which was pretty much business code for ‘weird asshole’. He knew it, though he did not particularly care (much) or know exactly what to do about it. He wanted things the way he wanted them, so what? And he delivered. His work was pristine, edgy, high-class, if somewhat morose from an artistic standpoint, not visually speaking but emotionally. Just, dang it, if he wasn’t a goddamn artist. And he felt like Hollywood had lost its taste for true art, true feelings, all it had room for these days, it seemed, was glossy, soulless neatness, pretty but devoid of any meaning, of signature, glazed over with glam filters and lens flares.

 

Ben Solo did not work like that. He had a vision. Maybe he had clashed with this or that director here and there about which vision to go with but it wasn’t his fault that he was always right now, was it?

 

At one point, when he figured out that his mother was pulling strings in the background for him, to get him jobs and whatnot, he changed his name. Looking for something as artsy and original as his work, he came up with the moniker Kylo Ren, because it sounded somewhat foreign and definitely super cool, kind of like if Chrome had a stage name. It’s just that once he had told his mother firmly off about meddling in his career and started going by his new name —finally free of the burden of being a legacy, a prodigy wunderkind of Hollywood’s elite— the jobs that had gotten sparse before suddenly becoming non-existent. He tried but he did not seem to land anywhere substantial or even half-prestigious. He was too proud to go back to his Mom or even worse, his Dad for help and changing his name back would amount to pretty much the same thing, so he was stuck. Likely out of a career before he even turned thirty-one.

 

His money, which had lasted him long enough because he basically lived like an ascetic, was slowly but steadily running out. Still, he had always insisted on making it alone and would rather die than touch his trust fund. Only it was currently his fourth week on ramen noodles and instant mashed potatoes and he found his resolve wearing dangerously thin; the large amount of money technically in his name through no work of his own beckoning louder and louder. Also, the more he was home, the more the presence of his bastard room mate Hux was driving him insane. When Ben was still employed, he’d be gone on production for months on end or barely home anyway if he shot in L.A., but now that he was bumming around, he saw Hux a lot more than he wanted and, frankly, could stomach without developing major murderous tendencies. Bottom line, he needed a job and fast.

 

Six weeks into his ramen diet, he was on the way to meet somebody to talk doing camera for —and there was no nicer way to say it— porn, bad porn at that. But that was just when his luck changed and an opportunity presented itself that was too good to miss.

 

***

 

Ben had stopped midway across a nondescript Burbank street, to smoke a cigarette and will himself to actually go to that meeting, when a few paces down, a bustle of paparazzi appeared seemingly out of nowhere and for half a heartbeat he was afraid they were there for him. He put on his sunglasses in no time, only to realise that none of them gave a rats ass about him. Not even Phasma, whom he knew from sight from his olden party days. Mostly because she stood out everywhere, not just because of her reflective silver sunglasses that she left on even when looking through her camera lens, but also because she was about twelve feet tall, by far the tallest woman he had ever seen (taller than him, which was a definite feat considering he loomed over most people, being 6’’2). She barely spared him a glance though. She, like the rest of the jackals, only had eyes for the petite brunette who came crashing out of the restaurant behind Ben.

 

For fear of being taken aback by his own sorry appearance that day, he had avoided his reflection in the window of the place, which was why he’d missed that he stood smack dab in front of _Chez Steve’s_ , a hip new vegan place with rattan chairs, where everybody who was anybody liked to be seen. Most people in this town called the paps on themselves but judging from the look on the girls’ face as a bunch of cameras started violently clicking and flashing at her, she hadn’t been one of them. For a second, it looked like she was going to dart back inside but then the questions started and he couldn’t help but overhear. That’s when he realised he knew who she was.

 

***

 

A million years ago, back when Ben still went by Ben and his mother was still putting in “good words” for him with producers, he’d been doing a second unit shoot for a teen flick, a movie so dumb and uninspired he didn’t even remember the plot anymore, she’d been one of the actresses. Everyone was enjoying her but he found her plain and boring, not because she couldn’t act, but because she was so cookie-cutter perfect, he wanted to yawn. She was so pretty, she lacked anything of interest to him, all smooth perfection where his artistic eye looked for the cracks in people. Then again that movie wasn’t looking for cracks.

 

Anyway. He recalled not having his shiniest moment as a human being or indeed as a camera operator, when (on the fifth take of her close-up), she was still not delivering what he would call “any face” and he blew up. He managed to alienate most of the crew, definitely the second unit director, nearly blow out his tone-guy’s eardrums and make pretty Miss Perfect cry away her very expensive makeup, all in the span of a three minute tirade, only to storm off set with his camera to only be coaxed back from the one PA he could actually stand ten minutes later. After that, he was demoted to third unit and basically did e-shots for the rest of the production, which should probably have taught him never to be that big of a dick to anyone ever again. Alas, evidently, it hadn’t.

 

***

 

“Rey, hey, Rey!” Phasma called, a good head taller than the rest of her fellow photographers, “Is it true that you’re having an affair with a married man?”

Another joined in: “What does it feel like to be a filthy homewracker?”

“Is it true that his wife tried to kill herself?” — “Did you only get that lead because you sucked his dick?”

It just went on and on. Ben was cringing, feeling embarrassed even if he couldn’t care less about the girl but still. He should have left probably but he was transfixed, locked in place as he watched her trying to push past the cameras in her face. Like watching a car crash.

“It’s not true,” she said, walking right towards him. She didn’t even wear sunglasses, the little idiot. He could see even from afar that she was lying.

“Are you having an affair with him?” Phasma kept badgering, which was when, —what had she called the girl, Rey?— saw Ben and did what was likely the most outrageous thing that had ever happened to him. And that was saying something since he actually grew up in this insane city.

 

“I’m not,” Rey declared, took two large strides toward him and then gripped his hand harshly, a pleading look on her face. “This is my boyfriend. I’m not having an affair with anybody.”

Ben, his hand in a surprisingly strong grip, was frozen in place, confused as all hells and staring down at that slither of a woman, who turned around to stare down the photographers. He didn’t even know what was happening only that the sound of shutters flicking open and closed was suddenly deafening.

“That true, _Kylo_?” Phasma asked, using his nom de plume like it was a slur, and Ben was mildly surprised that she had in fact recognised him, too.

“Uh,” he stammered and only said a shaky “mmh, yeah”, when sharp fingernails dug into his hand, nearly making him wince. “Sure.”

“Of course it’s true,” the actress piped beside him and then whipped her head around to nod and say: “Come on, babe, let’s go.” And then she pulled him onwards, stronger than he would have thought, and the paps followed them right to the gate of the fenced-in parking lot where a valet was waiting around, trying not to look curious, which he obviously was.

 

Instead of making a beeline for him, which Ben had expected somehow, Rey pulled him to the side and then dropped his hand while her body deflated like an old balloon. The crowd outside the gate was still rowdily yelling after them, almost drowning her out as she started speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I panicked.” She couldn’t even look at him, she just stared at the ground. “Thanks for playing along.” A pause, in which Ben honestly tried to say something but he was still too weirded out and shocked to remember how words worked. He wasn’t even angry, he was just profoundly gobsmacked.

 

“Oh fuck, dude, I’m so sorry,” she said, the British accent she had coming through strongly, and he remembered that she was from London. She’d told that to someone at the crew catering when he was waiting in line for watery coffee and a cinnabun. Odd things ones brain remembered. “You might be in the tabloids tomorrow. Shit.” She was ruffling her hair and eventually started walking in a tight circle, cursing under her breath and apologising profusely. She didn’t hear him at first when he told her it was okay. How Ben found his voice, he’d never know. Only that he did.

“I can be your boyfriend,” he said, which was the thing that gave her pause, made her stop her manic pacing and look at him. “Pretend to be, I mean,” he clarified.

 

She studied him, cocked her head, and he wondered if now she had finally realised that she knew him, but when she did not seem to, he understood that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing’s free in Hollywood, his offer wasn’t going to be either, and he had to give her credit for knowing that.

“I need a job,” he said plainly. “If you can get me a job, I can be your boyfriend.”

“What do you do? What job do you need?” she said with the urgency of someone who was desperate.

“I’m a cameraman,” he replied and that’s when her face fell and he was sure everything clicked into place up there.

“Can you…,” she hesitated, just for a moment because she already knew, but then barrelled on, “can you take your sunglasses off?”

 

He did. Her face turned ashen. And then she yelled. “Fuck! I knew it! It’s you isn’t it? You’re _that_ asshole.” She laughed out loud, ugly and bitter. “Of all the fucking assholes in this town, it had to be the biggest, vilest, cruellest…FUCK. Shit, that is just my luck, isn’t it?” She glared up at him as if she expected an answer.

Ben couldn’t do anything but shrug and cross his arms, holding her stare, matching her defiance. That went on for some time. A time in which he remembered that however plainly beautiful as she was, he had liked the green-brown of her eyes, because it was sort of fiery, which was unusual for that kind of tint and he also remembered that that’d been the only thing his camera had been drawn to at the time.

 

Rey grit her teeth and it was through them that she murmured a grovelling: “Fine,” which proved exactly how much she needed a lifeline. “I can get you onto my movie by Monday. But we’ll do the whole shebang, see the Lakers, get papped on a shmancy yacht, go to the fucking Golden Globes and I’ll talk about the size of your dick on _Ellen_.”

“Be my guest,” Ben shrugged, possessed by immaturity for a moment. “It’s pretty big.”

For a second he thought that she was actually going to laugh but then she squared her jaw and held out her hand for him to shake on it.

“Three months,” she said, not dignifying his penis-joke with a response after all, “the whole eight yards.”

“It’s nine yards,” he corrected instinctively which earned him another glare.

“You know what I mean, fucko,” she barked. “Are you in or out?”

“In,” he said and shook her hand firmly. Which was what landed him a job on another chick flick and a brand new Starlet ‘girlfriend’ instead of doing porn.

 

And that was at least something.

 

***

 

Ben had no idea how she did it, and what sorry camera operator lost his job halfway through production, but Rey held her word and by the end of the week he had signed his contract and started work bright and early on Monday, shooting second unit stuff with a bunch of people he had never met and not Rey, for the rest of the week. They had exchanged numbers but so far, she hadn’t called on his services, only written him a lengthy email on the party lines for the reporter questions that flooded him through his few social media channels. He gave them the same answers he gave his room mate Hux and his mother, who actually rang him up once the story broke over the web.

“We met years ago on a film and stayed in contact. We’ve been seeing each other low-key for months now. We’re super happy…yadda yadda yadda…”

 

By Sunday, his day off, he got curious about one or two things he might have googled about them, and her, which was precisely that she was linked to the director of the very movie they were now both working on. It was all clear as day, he knew as much. She was, or had been, definitely sleeping with the guy. Poe Dameron, who by all accounts was a suave, charming family man in great standing in Hollywood, completely untouched by #metoo, which was rare these days. Only it seemed that he did have an affair with the up and coming Rey Rider while he was very much still married with two kids under five. Now given that he had probably just as much to lose about that getting out as Rey did, it made sense that Ben had so seamlessly been given his job but he wasn’t going to meddle in that. He didn’t really care and he didn’t have to. Let her screw around with whomever she wanted, he had what _he_ wanted for it. But he was still curious. All he wanted to know was if he was right. Which was why he texted her that night.

 

“Sup,” he wrote and waited five minutes for her to answer.

“Sup.”

“So you’re definitely screwing him, huh?”

“Fuck you,” she replied, instantly. Followed up with: “Lakers game tonight, picking you up, don’t look shitty.”

“I’m busy. You didn’t even give me a heads up,” he protested, fingers flying across his phone.

“You’re not busy, you have no friends,” she texted back, which… _fair._ “I’ll be at yours in an hour. Also fuck you. Respectfully. Again. Asshole.” (Those came as separate texts.)

 

***

 

Somehow, Rey had gotten them into the Mila-and-Ashton floor seats at the Lakers game, right where they sat perfectly primed to be photographed every second of the game which resulted in his face hurting from smiling and him learning a bunch of useless crap about his pseudo-girlfriend as they attempted to talk to each other in a lively and loved-up fashion. But mostly their exchanges went like this:

Ben: So what music do you like? (Said with a grin, as if he was telling a joke.)

Rey: (chuckling as if he had just told a very good joke, indeed) All kinds, really into indie pop at the moment, you know, Mumford and Sons and stuff.

Ben: (grinning sweetly and very much under his breath) That’s the most uninspired thing I’ve ever heard.

Rey: (equally as sweet, putting her elbow on his shoulder to get into his space) You’re insufferable and I hope you die.

Ben: (leaning in to whisper) Want to talk more about my big dick instead?

Rey: (getting really close, her breath hot on his neck) Go fuck yourself.

 

Suffice it to say, he didn’t catch a minute of the game. But he wound up having a way better time than he thought he would. By the end of the night he lingered for a while in the back of her black town car, the partition up for privacy and eyed her for a second.

“But honestly, you’re fucking him, aren’t you?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to know, he couldn’t care less. But still. Rey sighed and shook her head.

“No,” she said, her voice low. “Not anymore.”

“Ha!” he said triumphantly but when he saw her gulp and look out of the tinted window for a moment too long, he felt sorry. Just for a second.

“We had something, for a while actually,” she said eventually. “Him and his wife, they’ve been done long before that. The second baby was her attempt of fixing it. She stopped taking the pill without telling him and now...you know...he doesn’t want her to take the kids away. So they’re still living together. But it’s all a mess. He loves me, you know. It’s just not the right time.”

 

“Well, if he loved you, he’d be with you, wouldn’t he? Openly?” Ben said, without thinking really.

“You don’t know jack shit about him, okay?” her voice was raised, instantly, and maybe for the first time in his life, Ben knew better than to be a jerk, so he let it go.

“Sorry,” he said. “Not my place.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbled but looked away.

“And sorry for back then, you know? When we worked together,” he said, half because he tried to salvage the situation and half because he actually _was_ kind of sorry. “I was an idiot. Been having a bit of a year.”

She laughed, not quite joyously but not vindictive either. “It’s fine. Everybody defended me and we said terrible things behind your back after.”

“I can imagine,” he chuckled, surprising himself by being genuinely amused instead of angry. Maybe he’d had a beer too much at the game. “Made fun of my ears?”

“Oh no,” Rey said and finally looked back at him, “we didn’t bother with superficialities. We went straight to you being a despicable human being with countless irredeemable flaws.”

“Well, at least I wasn’t sleeping with a married director,” he said, purely in jest but her face hardened for a second before she slowly shook her head.

“Not quite there yet, buddy,” she warned. “Not quite there. And now get out of my car before I throw you out.”

 

(That last thing however, she said with the ghost of a smile on her lips.)

 

***

 

His second week on the job was the first time Rey was on his set, if only briefly. They just did a half-page walk and talk with her and the romantic lead played by a veritably nice guy called Finn that even Ben could find no reason to hate. To his surprise, Ben found that now, he actually liked seeing her on camera, saw her make choices that were just right, ones that _he_ would have made. He saw her move the way he would direct her to, if he could, caught the little tremors in her face as she enthused some meaningless dialogue and found himself greatly enjoying her close-up this time around. So much so that when the second unit director asked him for his opinion, if they had it or if he wanted to do another take, Ben said he wanted another one, just to watch her act again.

 

They took a break together after, Rey deliberately sneaking under his arm as they walked off to a corner of the lot. Just far enough not to be overheard but close enough to be seen cozying up as he smoked his cigarette. She sat on his lap as soon as he’d positioned himself on a fake ‘New York’-brownstone stairwell. The smoke he puffed out hit the back of her back like a wave and crushed into finer dust.

“You’re the first actress I know that doesn’t give me the stink eye for smoking,” he told her, mindlessly watching the light catch on her auburn hair.

 

“I’m British, remember?” she said. “People do on occasion still smoke over there.” She leaned back, just a little and turned her head slightly so he would still hear her as she lowered her voice: “I’m actually dying for a drag but I don’t want anyone to catch me doing that…”

“You can come smoke at my place if you like,” Ben said easily.

“Are you coming on to me?” she asked, like a shot and he actually rocked back, barely keeping her seated, he was so taken aback (and so embarrassed, he could feel his ears burn) but she broke out into a guffaw over his stumbled “no”’s.

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” she laughed. “But I might actually get back to you on that.”

It took a while for Ben to recover but he did, just in time before the five-minute break was over.

 

“You know, there’s actually a party with a bunch of hippies that we could go to where nobody cares if you’re smoking and nobody would blab,” he told her.

“Ah-huh, and what’s that?” she asked, smirking.

“Um, my parents wedding, actually,” he said, almost sheepishly. (And one might have thought it was because he was proposing going to a wedding together three weeks into a pretend-relationship but it was actually because, well, his _parents_.) “I didn’t really plan on going but to enable your nasty secret habit I just might have to. Can’t pass up on a chance to corrupt you just a little bit.”

 

“I’m not that easy to corrupt, big boy,” she joked, which had him mysteriously out of breath and spit in his mouth for a second there but she quickly went on, demanding his blood up in his brain to listen. “You really weren’t planning on going to your parents wedding?”

“No,” he shrugged. “They do this every few decades. I give them two-three years, five tops if they live that long, before they get divorced again. It’s their third time getting married. You know, really, they can’t stand each other but somehow they can’t quit trying.”

“Funny,” she mused, “getting married for the third time, that’s like Han Solo and Leia Organa.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ben rasped, trying to gauge if she was making fun of him. “That’s exactly like them, actually. You _do_ know they’re my parents, right?”

“What?” her eyes became wide as saucers, which he saw just before she jumped off of him and then stood, towering above her.

“You didn’t _know_?!” Ben was almost a little insulted.

“How was I supposed to know that?” she sounded equally as obtused.

“Didn’t you google me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know when we filmed together? I was still working as Ben Solo back then!”

 

 

“No, I didn’t fucking google you, _Kylo Ren_ ,” she sneered but not without humour. “And back then you were just a cameraman who made me cry on my first movie. You introduced yourself as Kylo this time around, everybody calls you that, you got shitty music videos on your Vimeo channel as director: Kylo Ren!”

“So you did google me!” he said triumphantly, ignoring the ‘shitty music videos’-part.

“I vimeo’d you,” she corrected. “I couldn’t let Poe hire just anybody for this. But man, Hashtag Solorgana…your fucking parents. Shut the front door!”

“So you like me now for my famous pedigree, huh?” Ben asked, getting up too, dreading the affirmative of this more than he would ever admit.

“No,” she shrugged, pulling him back to the set by his hand easily, like they weren't just pretending. “I’ll never like you. But I _would_ like to meet your parents. So I’m in, if you still wanna take me.”

“It’s Saturday night,” he told her, finding the soft pressure of her hand in his disconcerting and comforting all at once. “But you gotta wear something beige…that’s the motto this time.”

“ _Beige_ ,” she repeated. “I love it.”

 

It was just like her to get his parents awkward subversive humour (what with picking the most dull colour for a party and that being sort of edgy and quirky in and of itself) and the fact that Ben found that kind of endearing worried him immensely.

 

***

 

When Ben rsvp’d to the event, his mother called, for the second time that month, which was highly unusual. She barely let him get a word in, asking to hear if Rey was a vegetarian, which she was, asking if they needed a room for the night, which Ben said they did and already started getting used to the idea of sleeping in the bathtub of the ensuite bathroom, asking if he was happy, which was the one question that threw him for a loop. He’d barely said yes when his mom barrelled on, but by that time, he wasn’t listening anymore because he was deeply troubled by the fact that _yes_ , indeed, he was happy. And that was new. Very, very new.

 

For the longest time, he realised now, he’d been fucking miserable. Not working, not socialising, not even enjoying himself in any meaningful or even benign way. Now he had a job doing what he loved (even if it wasn’t up to his usual artistic standards but, hey, at least it was work), he was getting out and talking to people who weren’t entirely terrible and he had…fun. With Rey. He had fun with Rey. And his heart sunk, just a little. Because when Ben Solo had fun every once in a while, it was sure to be short-lived. An absolute indicator of looming doom.

 

***

 

Now, if Ben had thought that he knew what heart-sinking felt like, he learned better when he picked up Rey at her house in West L.A. and she walked towards him in a beige tunic-like layered and knotted Greek-Goddess-style dress. He might have stopped breathing for a second. She was too pretty, he had always known it. She was way too beautiful. He caught his reflection in the car window trying to peel his eyes off of her and his own shortcomings were even more apparent in the direct and stark comparison. His lopsided nose, the long face, the big ears and weird-flowey, tar-dark locks. He resembled at most a strange sort of cat. She, meanwhile, was an _angel._ Not to mention that he looked like some sort of skeevy cult leader in beige while Rey was an ethereal vision, like an embodiment of _earth_ , if that could ever be an attractive thing. He didn’t dare catch her eye again until they were in the car on the road to the airport to get to Napa Valley.

 

“You’re quiet,” she said over the radio after a while.

“I’m thinking,” he lied.

“About what?”

“About how to best tell you how to handle my parents,” he said, which was not a lie.

“How about you just tell me?” she chuckled and that was the first time he realised that the undercurrent of loathing between them had vanished without a trace. They were easy together now, natural. And he couldn’t even pinpoint a moment when that had happened. Only that he was scared to admit how glad he was for it. How little he wanted it to end.

“Well, fine,” he said, trying to occupy himself with something other than that. “You see, my Dad acts like he hates flattery and he doesn’t want to talk about all the movies he produced but secretly he loves it. So if you like his stuff and know a bit about it, ask him details. If you don’t know anything really well, don’t bother. If you wanna impress him…you know, we got time, read some Wikipedia. He loves talking about making Titanic, so ask him about…I don’t know, the research trip Jim took him on, he’ll be talking for an hour. Just don’t mention the Newfoundland port and you’ll be fine. As for my mother…uh, you know, she’s a lot darker than all the roles she played. But infinitely more funny. You’ll love her, she’ll love you, that’s already a done deal.”

The time it took for Rey to say anything was the moment he chanced a glance at her again, his hands closing around the steering wheel tight so as to not get too distracted from driving. When he caught her eye, she looked away though.

“Thank you,” she said to the passenger side window as he pulled into long-term parking at LAX. 

 

Ben wondered about the tone of her voice all the way through the terminal, barely noticed the paparazzi who snapped pictures of them, barely noticed that Rey told them exactly where they were headed, barely noticed anything until they sat on a place and he could put _Friends_ on on the screen in front of him, and forget to wonder for a while.

 

***

 

As expected, Rey was a hit with his parents and his whole extended family. His uncle Luke, who had come from his practical exile in Alaska, took to her particularly and their conversation about his old golden days of acting kept Rey stuck on the deck of Ben’s parents re-consolidated vineyard for three hours into the night. Except that she didn’t look stuck, she looked happy as a clam. Ben just perceived her as stuck because _he_ was stuck _not_ talking to her and that only ended when his mother personally grabbed her from the table and Leia dragged Rey to her son for the _Lovers, Old and New_ -Dance.

 

It was a ‘tradition’ founded at his parents second wedding because by then, there’d been no more grand-parents alive for the father-daughter dance and the like, so Leia had just called it the 'Lovers' dance and had all couples join in on her and Han’s second dance of the night. This time, having Rey around, meant that Ben wouldn’t have to sit glumly on the sidelines, watching everybody else flaunt their stupid romantic happiness in his eternally single face.

Rey chuckled when his Mom all but shoved her at him and asked him under her breath what was happening as soon as Leia was out of earshot.

“We’re gonna have to dance now,” he said, leading her uneasily toward the dance floor, aiming to keep as far on the edge of it as possible.

“Can you dance?” she asked him.

“Of course I can dance,” he said. “I’m not an animal.”

She did laugh at that. “That’s good, because I can’t.”

“Don’t worry, I got you,” he said because this he could do.

 

Rey weighed practically nothing and once she actually led him lead a couple of bars in, she was easy to guide into a small box of movement, sway her around, pliant and light. She stumbled here and there, but when she did, he simply lifted her off and put her down a count or two later, back on her feet and back on the beat.

“You know, at the end people are expected to kiss but we’re not gonna do that,” he told her out of courtesy and so that she wouldn’t be caught off guard if maybe people would look at them after, waiting to see some tongue.

“You can kiss me,” Rey shrugged. Ben missed half a count, which she took for her cue to twirl underneath his arm. It must’ve looked pretty, her beige dress flowing in the warm summer air. Mostly it helped him save face though and cover his surprise.

 

“Really?” he said, instantly clamouring to drop his voice down to its usual octave. “I mean…we really don’t have to, it’s archaic and stupid and—”

“Give it a rest, man,” she grinned. “The whole eight yards, remember?”

“The whole eight yards,” he repeated dumbly.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Rey said, after the next chorus, as if she’d just thought of the possibility and she seemed almost ashamed, as if she was worried that she was pressuring him into something he didn’t feel like doing.

“No, I mean,” he stumbled, thankfully only with his words. “It’s fine, whatever. It’s cool. I’m cool.”

( _So not cool, Solo, so not cool._ )

“Cool,” Rey said and just like that, the song was over. Ben had already forgotten which one it had been, because then Rey was on her tiptoes, closing her eyes.

 

He took just a moment to steady himself and then, for the lack of a more romantic term, he just went for it, closed the remaining distance and put his lips on hers. Careful, because he knew that they were big, especially for a guys' but still not surprisingly so, given that his face was huge and completely out of proportion anyway. She didn’t seem to mind though. Instead of recoiling or anything, she snook her arm around his neck, lifting herself up a little as if he was a pull-up bar and deepened the kiss.

 

She was a bit too close to even think about getting some tongue in but he really wanted to. He had accepted that it wouldn’t happen though, right until she sunk back down to her feet, which he interpreted as her wanting to end the kiss. But to his surprise, even when their bodies disentangled and he had to actually bend down to keep attached to her (not quite ready to let go until she did), she stayed there. She stayed on his mouth and she, actually, nudged her tongue against his lips. He took that opportunity like a dying man, a full five seconds, tasting the Champagne on her lips, tracing the edges of her teeth as she gave some pressure back and breathed out heavily. And then it was over and Ben was dizzy.

 

Not too dizzy to open his eyes to her, fortunately, as they broke apart. Rey, back on her feet with her round, perfect cheeks flushed, shining like a whole galaxy of stars under the intricate fairy lights draped all over his parents yard, was grinning. Like a thief wickedly happy with her loot. Ben’s heart slammed like a sledge hammer, like a wrecking ball, against his rib cage, with a rage. It was one giant, violent thud that could’ve knocked him clean out of his shoes, had his hand not become an anchor, landed on the side of her face, tucking back a loose curl behind her ear almost mechanically.

 

 _Fuck, I love you_ , he thought. And then: _Stars, help me._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two!! Yayyy :) This little ficlet is now complete :)

**PART TWO**

 

The rest of the night of the lavish wedding celebrations his parents have sprung for, passed in a haze for Ben Solo, largely occupied by the question of how to proceed. Should he be daring and try to bank on that wonderful kiss with Rey, try to entice her into going further or should he do nothing, pretty certain that it meant nothing and she’s just tipsy enough to forget that she doesn’t like him much? He couldn’t decide. Not even when, hours later, she was pushing past him into the guest house his mother had offered them for the sole taking for the night (“Young love should not worry about waking any neighbors,” said with a wink he could have done without, frankly).

 

“I’m going to take the couch,” he informed her as soon as she stepped out of her high heels, cheeks pink from Champagne and unsteady on her feet for the same reason.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, waving her hand as if to shoo the physical incarnation of his sentence. “The bed is huge, I can share.”

The wink Rey gave her then, had the opposite effect that his mother’s did.

“I don’t think that’s-“

“Oh, shush,” she said easily and took two large strides towards him, locking his hand in her smaller one in a death grip. “You’re afraid you’re not gonna be able to control yourself?”

“No,” he said, like a shot, fast enough to make her raise an eyebrow.

“Hm,” she hummed and let go of him. “Pity.”

 

“Rey,” he rumbled, watching her prance ahead to the bed and maneuver out of her dress, following the fabric as it slid down the curves of her body and spilled around her ankles. She left it behind in a pile on the floor with no regard for either wrinkly clothes or the snug fit of his pressed pants.

She turned her head, peaking at him over her shoulder with a look on her face that can only be described as tipsy, reckless _sin._

“What?” she asked, adding a veneer of innocence that was as flimsy as her lacy underwear. This at least did away with any uncertainty he’d felt about her not having the exact thing on her mind he had on his. She wanted him, apparently, which was too good to be true in any case but he could work with that. At least he thought he could.

 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked point blank anyway. Just to be really sure.

“Are you seducible?” she purred, letting herself fall down on the king-sized bed.

“That’s a damn stupid question and you know it,” he huffed, shifting uneasily where he stood, his blood running south just by the sight of her sprawling out on the bed.

“You’re drunk,” he decided and locked his arms. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, come on,” she groaned. “Don’t give me that crap. You’re drunk too, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted.

“So, do you wanna sleep with me?” she asked him, the straightforwardness knocking the air out of his lungs for a second, her brashness leaving him no way to answer but to nod like an idiot.

“And are you feeling confident that that’s a decision your sober mind would make, too?” she continued.

“No,” he answers, which was evidently not what she wanted to hear.

“Let me reframe that,” she started. “Are you feeling confident, that your sober mind would _want_ this, too?” And that’s a different question entirely and she knows it. “You would,” she said, and he didn’t challenge it.

“So would I,” she told him with a sly smile.

 

“That’s all very great,” he agreed, hid mind getting more blurry by the second, “I’m just saying it might not be the best idea considering our…circumstances.”

“Well, we’re both free as birds, aren’t we?” Rey argued. “And when I go on Ellen to talk about your junk, I think I owe it to America to not lie about it. It’s for…research, plain and simple.”

“Rey,” he said her name again, hoping that it could deter her, because he couldn’t take much more of her trying to talk _him_ into sleeping with _her._

“It’s just sex, Ben,” she sighed and sat up straighter to hold out her hand to him, beckoning him closer, the use of his given name sending a shiver down his spine. “What’s the worst that could happen?

 

***

 

Rey didn’t get pregnant that night, which would have been the answer to that question. In Ben’s mind at least. She didn’t get pregnant at all, in fact. Not on the many more occasions, both tipsy and stone cold sober, that they shared a bed after the first time. The worst thing that could have happened though, it turned out, was how fast and how irrevocably Ben fell head over heels in love with her.

 

It was torture trying to keep her from finding out, trying to keep up the façade of a guy who was just peachy with his fake relationship turning into a very real friends-with-benefits situation. Like it didn’t break his heart whenever she collected her clothes after they did it and went home, like a dating app hook-up that would never call again. It grated him down so much that a short, pathetic _month_ into it, he ended up, he held onto her wrist on night when she was getting ready to leave and pulled her back into him, tucking her beside his frame.

“Stay,” he whispered, hoarse and desperate. “Please stay. I want you so much, Rey. I want to be with you.”

“But I’m right here, silly,” she chuckled, holding onto him.

“No, I mean for real,” he said. “No faking. Just a regular boring couple. You and me, no more pretending.” She went really quiet but also made no move to escape his arms, so he prowled on, headless. “I mean, there’s something between us, right? That’s real. I know you feel it, too.”

 

“Ben,” she murmured, after a deep breath and he tensed up, trying frantically to brace his heart for her turning him down. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He should’ve kept his dumb mouth shut. “I feel it, I do…but I just went through a lot with Poe and I…I just don’t want to hurt you, you know? We can…try this, if you want but I can’t be all in right away. I need some time.”

Her fingers started moving on his arms, twisting into the hairs there and she rocked her bottom into his front, where he pulled her in close and he couldn’t think straight, both from the sensation of friction and the fact that she had not said no. That she was still there in the dark with him.

“Do you think that would work for you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he nearly whimpered before pulling her in to seal the deal with kisses, burying himself in her with fervor, so deep he hoped she’d never be able to cast him out again.

 

Their honeymoon-phase consisted of that wholesome early-dating thing where he took her to all the places he cared about in the city and she told him in vivid detail about growing up in the foster system and dealing with the fact that her parents were junkies who gave her away when she was a baby, ending up crying and then thanking him for listening, sitting in a hot tub pressed close and bonding. He wanted to know everything about her, studied her like he would a new camera model, all the intricate mechanisms making it create art, all the wonderous little cogs and wheels that had to turn to make it go. Rey, in turn, lit up his life, bought him a cactus she named Earl, had lunch with his mother, actually did go on Ellen and answer the question if she was happy with a cheeky wink and an “Very. And very satisfied, too, if you know what I mean.” Ben made sure repeatedly that she wasn’t lying about that.

 

If anyone would’ve asked him, he’d have told anyone easily that this had been the best time of his life to date. Aided also by the fact that he was gaining footing on the film’s production. He was happy in the second unit, getting along better and better with his colleagues and he was even okay with Poe Dameron calling the shots, mostly because their paths did not intersect as much. He wasn’t jealous or anything, mostly because he never saw Poe and Rey interact. Which of course changed the night of the Golden Globes.

 

***

 

The Golden Globes were the unofficial wrap party for their movie, following the week of the principle photography wrap, which wasn’t Ben’s last work week but Rey’s. Nearly the whole crew was going to be there for their involvement in various other projects, Rey having been invited to present and him there as her plus one, obviously. It was a sunny, warm day in L.A., he was wearing a tux and she was looking stunning in a dark blue sparkle and stars dress. They had Champagne in the limo on the way and strudded easily down the red carpet, hand in hand and smiling like a million bucks each. The ceremony and Rey’s presenting gig went off without a hitch. It was just that at the party that followed, the _Vanity Fair_ one downtown, Ben had stepped out for five minutes to relieve himself, and came back to Poe, bent over Rey’s ear and talking at her as her face fell.

 

Ben didn’t take even half a second to think before he went over there, standing up to his full height next to the director, towering over him in a fashion that he hoped would read as scary.

“What’s going on?” he asked and immediately felt Rey’s elbow in his ribs.

“Nothing, he was just leaving,” Rey said and sounded tense.

“Kylo Ren-Ben, Rennn, Bennn, mah man,” slurred Poe, obviously drunk and mock-punched him in the arm. “I was just saying how happy I am for you guys. You know, that she got over me so quickly. So glad your little _arrangement_ worked out so well.” He’d put the word ‘arrangement’ in air-quotes and Ben felt his forehead artery pound immediately as Rey looked around them, nervously noting that heads were starting to turn to them by each decibel Poe’s barking voice rose over the noise as he went on. “So you’re fucking her now, huh? Took…right over, just…stepped right in.”

“Poe, please, you’re embarrassing me,” Rey said, her voice lowered and face contorted into a plea.

“I’m embarrassing _you_?!” he chuckled mirthlessly. “You’re here flouncing that bullshit in my face!”

 

When the shorter man waved his hand dismissively around the general level of his chest, it clicked for Ben that Poe was making a jealous scene, that he was giving the lover scorned for everyone in ear-shot and Rey was caught in the middle of it.

“You don’t love him,” Poe went on, as if Ben wasn’t even there at all and then he put his hand on Rey’s shoulder and Ben saw crimson red.

“Don’t touch her,” he said and shoved that offending hand away.

“Ben!” Rey urged, trying to appease him and ward of the inevitable but it was too late.

“What do you want?” Poe challenged and shoved him.

 

And because Ben was an idiot and had had an issue with controlling his temper all his damn life, Poe wound up with a fist to his face, Ben with a very unbecoming exit of the party and Rey with her face plastered all across the tabloids the next day. There it was, in large white, yellow and pink letters slapped on top of her dismal expression, following a fuming Ben to their car, pictured just moments after he’d been thrown out: “Starlet Rey: Busted! – Her rumored illicit affair is confirmed as director Poe Dameron and current beau Ben Solo cause a jealous brawl”.

 

***

Truthfully, Ben had not expected Rey to be as angry at him as she turned out to be. She left him with angry red spots on her face from getting so exalted yelling at him for loosing his cool and it took him half the night to fall asleep, laboring through guilt and worry until he decided that he had been right to defend her honor and that she should damn well better thank him for what he did.

 

This doesn’t mean that he didn’t call his mother from his kitchen early in the morning, just to make sure that he was right about planning to tell Rey to calm down. He didn’t last long with his mother prodding him about the rumors before he broke down and told her everything, from the run-in with Rey to their pact, to him falling in love with her. They ended up talking for two hours and by the end of it, Leia had talked him down to asking Rey for forgiveness instead of telling her to stop being “unreasonable”. After taking a shower, he turned his phone on again, to call Rey and ask her to come over, which was when he saw all the texts with links and screenshots he got.

 

From TMZ.

That say: “It’s all true! Poe Dameron cheated! #Reylo IS A LIE!”

And below: “A source close to Kylo Ren confirms: ‘Rey and him lied the whole time to cover up her affair with the director.’”

 

Ben couldn’t believe it and followed the link to the story that had all those details, stuff only he and Rey could have known. But he sure as hell hadn’t leaked anything. So did she?! What for? Did his mother? No, she wouldn’t stand to gain anything from this. So that left Rey…what was she thinking? Hurrying, he threw on a pair of shorts and a shirt and didn’t even attempt to dry his hair before heading out the door.

 

He didn’t make it far. Not past the threshold at least, because there stood Rey, of all people and slapped him clean across the face.

“How dare you?” she screeched, his ears still ringing from the force of her hit making it hard to understand what was going on at all. He staggered backwards, dumbstruck and gaped at her like a stupid cow. “How could you tell them?”

“I didn’t,” he said reflexively and truthfully, too. “I have know idea how they know.”

“I told nobody, Ben, no one in the whole world,” she said, tears swimming in her eyes. “I’m done. My career is over! No one will ever forgive me for this. And for what? Huh? Because I wouldn’t fall on my knees for you acting like a punchy knight in shining armor? That’s how I deserved this?”

“Rey, I didn’t go to fucking TMZ with this,” he repeated, bile rising in his throat. “How could you even believe that? I _love_ you!”

“Spare me the bullshit,” she spat. “I sure as hell didn’t tell. That leaves only you. Don’t _lie_ to me!”

“I’m not lying!”

“I can’t believe this!” she exclaims and Ben can’t help but reach out for her.

“Rey, just listen!” he tries again, grabs her by the arm but she violently jerks back, glaring at him, aghast and hurt.

“Don’t touch me!” she warns and walks backwards, a look of pure betrayal and disgust on her face. “Don’t you ever touch me again. We’re done Ben. I can’t believe you did this.”

 

With this, she turns on her heels and won’t hear another word from him, no plea to stop and listen. And Ben has no idea what to do, or who did this to them.

 

***

 

This at least clears up a day later, when Hux comes back from what must’ve been a bender on the town, grinning like a hyena and reeking of sex and booze and punches Ben on the shoulder, saying: “So, where’s your little girlfriend? Or your fake girlfriend…what a show yesterday, huh? Couldn’t believe my ears when I heard you go off in the kitchen…who were you talking to? Your mother? That was hilarious, bro…I’m so in love with her, hahaha, glorious. That’s all bullshit though, isn’t it? You never loved anybody.”

Ben was on his feet and his hand gripping Hux’ collar in no time, his blood suddenly boiling. “What. The. Fuck. Are you saying?”

 

Hux just smirked.

“Answer me, you motherfucker,” Ben barked, running the ginger bastard against the far wall with vigor. “You were the one who told on us?”

“It made a good buck,” the asshole said, unabashed, unashamed and not like he even cared that Ben was in every position of beating him to a pulp for this. Hux shrugged, nonchalantly. “Should’ve kept your mouth shut, I guess.”

 

Ben’s only response was to pick him up a few inches from the ground and then shove him with a heavy thud back against the wall. Any other violence, he managed to refrain from by a hair.

“You slimy-fucking bastard, you’ll regret this,” Ben threatened before letting him go. He left Hux there, still smug, drunk an unrepentant and took his wallet and his phone, planning on never being in that apartment again when Hux was, too. Lest he kill him and go to prison for the conniving rat.

 

***

 

Ben drove around town in his car for a long while, trying to figure out a way to tell Rey what had happened, considering how she wouldn’t take his calls and his texts didn’t seem to get through, almost as if she had blocked him.

 

After some hours, parked on a hill overlooking the town, he resorted to the only thing he could think of to do to get the word out to her. He revived his long-abandoned Instagram account that had gained some traction recently with his name being all over the internet for that scandal and went live.

 

“Hey, so, um, uh, I don’t know how to do this,” he started, watching the viewer numbers climb into the hundreds. “This is about, well, what you think it will be about. Rey and I…I want to tell you what happened. I didn’t leak anything, someone close to me who showed his real face did. But that, uh, that’s not what I want to be out in the world about us. It’s true, Rey and I started seeing each other because of a deal we made…but that changed. I’d like to tell you how.”

 

And he did, he talked for five minutes, ten, fifteen to steadily climbing numbers of viewers, until he was at the end of it and almost half a million people were listening as he said: “Rey, you know where I am, we had that picknick here, do you remember? I tried to kiss your cheek and landed on your ear, you giggled. Please find me. If you want. Please?” Ben waits, pauses, looks at the screen and sees a bunch of heart smileys and comments coming in that he doesn’t read. He takes a deep breath and ends the stream with: “I love you, Rey, that’s still true. If you love me too…just get here.”

“I’m already here, you dummy,” says a voice behind him where he sits on the hood of his car and he whips around and sees her standing there, her phone in hand.

 

He drops his on the hood, the live stream still running, and half a million people watch as Rey and him come together, running into each others arms. And kiss. Just like the movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...did you like the romcom? :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> Please reblog the tumblr link if you liked it, to be found here: http://jackpotgirl.tumblr.com/post/182790931640/the-whole-eight-yards-read-on-ao3-part-onepart
> 
> Thank you <3


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